Hot to the Touch
by DarkPhoenixIncarnate
Summary: In their rush, they forgot the blankets. One-Shot! Zuko/Sokka PWP Unbeta'd


For Jazy~ Who demanded smut and would not rest until I gave it to her.

* * *

In their rush, they forgot the blankets.

Somewhere outside of Sokka's hastily constructed tent, which was placed _way _too far from the campfire to be considered anything close to subtle, said blankets lay bundled in perfectly tight rolls atop a snoring air bison's back. "Zukooooooooo." His voice is a hoarse whine of discomfort, his throat is still sore from the breathless screams he'd pressed into Zuko's neck, trying so hard to be quiet.

The memory of it, Zuko's body above his, the weight that pressed against him, filled him, stretched him until he was all but gasping is still fresh in his mind. There are still a few beads of sweat clinging to his skin as he shudders involuntarily, the few seconds of heat the memory gave fades away all too soon, leaving goose bumps to rise on his arms, his thighs.

Sokka slides a bare leg between Zuko's own, moving closer and trying to share in his heat, shivering again when a warm arm falls over his side, pulling him into a lazy half embrace. "Zuuuuukooooo…" No response but slow, even breathing. He twitches in annoyance, pursing his lips. There's no way in hell Zuko's completely asleep, he's sure of that. Granted he can't see three inches in front of his own face, as dark as their tent is, but he still says as much to Prince Hotman himself, who, after a moment of silence, snorts quietly.

Scooting closer to him, Sokka feels another shiver work its way down his spine. They should've spent more time on the tent, should've set it up properly, nailed down the edges. There's too many gaps, too many subtle openings in cloth, not enough for anyone to see inside thankfully, not that they could considering how dark it is, but just enough to let cold air slide though and brush against the entire length of his back, chilling him to the core with every passing breeze.

He's been away from home for too long, really, this little chill shouldn't affect him so much. Then again, he isn't like Katara. She always seems to come alive in the cold, face lit up when it snows as she rushes across ice, laughing like a mad woman in nothing but a simple dress. He's always been more practical, keeping a constant fire going in their home, always making sure that both himself and Katara were dressed in their heavy coats, despite her constant insistence that she didn't need it.

Another breeze slides though the gaps between ground and cloth and he'd run out to get the damn blankets himself except it's really a bit too cold to be running around naked in the middle of the night. Their clothes are strewn around them and beneath them and he can't see a thing. Plus, despite the cold and the shivers, his body is still lax, tense shoulders finally freed of the tension they've been carrying the past three days so he's got absolutely no intention of moving anytime soon. And so, "Zuuuu-"

"_What?_" Sokka grins widely at the annoyance he hears, catching the hint of fondness beneath it. He scoots closer, their chests brushing. "I'm _cold. _You're the one who forgot the blankets so you gotta get them." Zuko shifts, and for a split second Sokka thinks he's really going to get up, but instead that long body just stretches and moves in closer until he can feel the brush of Zuko's nipples against his chest, can feel muscles tensing and relaxing against his thighs.

"Me?" Zuko's voice is heavy, words slow. Maybe he _had _been asleep. "_You _were supposed to get the supplies. _I _was supposed to set up the tent." Sokka rolls his eyes. "Yeah, you did a great job by the way." He speaks with an abundance of sarcasm as he lets his hand, the one that isn't crushed under the prince's weight, trail absently over Zuko's side, chilled fingers tracing the curve of his hip.

Zuko inhales sharply, probably ready to argue when another chilly breeze whistles through the tent and Sokka's leaning into him on instinct, trying to protect himself from the cold. A shiver rushes over him and there's silence for a long moment, when Zuko speaks again, his voice is quiet, almost petulant. "Still not my fault you forgot the blankets."

Before he can argue, retort, or even roll his eyes the arm around him tightens, pulling him impossibly closer and Zuko is inhaling so deeply that Sokka can feel his chest expanding. When he exhales, unnaturally warm air follows, flowing down their bodies.

Another deep breath and heat blossoms between them but there's no flame, no light. Just what he imagines might be a spark that spreads from Zuko's chest and across the length of him. A surprisingly calloused hand rubs at his arm, another exhale between them and the cold is all but forgotten. Sokka can't help but be fascinated, belly prickling with heat and he's all but squirming against Zuko, who whispers to him with a sincerity that makes Sokka wish for just a sliver of light, just to see the look in the prince's eyes. "Is that better?"

It's pitch black but Sokka's aim has always been pretty damn perfect so when he surges forward he finds Zuko's lips on his first try, shifts and tugs on that strong hip until it clicks and Zuko slides on top of him again. Shivering, he fists his fingers into dark locks, tugs and their lips meet again, hot tongues sliding together as a rapidly heating body presses against him, sliding between his willingly, enthusiastically, parted legs.

The rising temperature goes from welcome to nearly oppressive as their kisses grow more desperate, hungrier, and each heavy breath that leaves Zuko is heated, filling their tent with heavy steam and the sweat starts forming on his skin again. Their bodies grow slick as they move against each other, hips grinding and when Zuko's cock slides against the cleft of his ass he groans and rocks his hips up to meet it, wrapping his legs around the prince's waist and whispering things he will later vehemently deny resemble anything close to begging.

One of those calloused hands pull away from his skin, almost frantically searching for the small bottle of slick oil Zuko normally uses to clean his swords, he curses when he finds it, fumbling in the dark and suddenly a slicked finger is breaching him, and Sokka's moaning as the feeling of _absence _that came after they finished earlier is eradicated.

He writhes with heat, impatience, voice low and hoarse as another finger fills him and he's achingly hard now, gripping uselessly at Zuko's arms, trying to wordlessly urge him to just _hurry it up _already. Desperation makes it hard to breath, sweat slides across his belly, pools in the dips of his collar bones and each droplet is a relief against his burning skin. The fingers that torment him pull back, Zuko is leaning over him and Sokka can't see in the dark but he wraps his arms tightly around broad shoulders, hugs strong hips with his legs and arches his body up so he can press wet, open mouthed kisses up Zuko's neck.

Their lips meet, tongues sliding against each other with a desperation that lacks any grace or dignity and he's whimpering into that hot mouth as the slicked head of the prince's thick cock presses into to him, slowly, inch by aching inch and when he's finally completely filled Zuko stills above him. A wrecked moan leaves the prince, over-hot air fills the tent, fans across his face and he's gasping as the body pressed so tightly against his own begins to move.

Each breath between them is heavy and desperate and _hot _and he fights the urge to cry out, instead arching his hips, trying to draw Zuko in deeper, trying to match his thrusts. Sweat soaks his hair, drips off of his skin and he's holding on so tightly his arms begin to tremble, muscles aching and Zuko's whispering to him in a voice that's all but _destroyed, _words that Sokka doesn't really understand but he can _feel _them, burning hot against his skin.

The aching, trembling need to be touched is almost overwhelming, each withdrawal and return into him is absolute perfect torture but for the life of him he can't stop gripping those strong shoulders, can't wretch a hand free to slide between their frantically meeting bodies to give himself at least some relief. He almost sobs when Zuko does it for him, a sweat slicked hand finding his aching cock and squeezing gently, moving with each thrust and Sokka forgets where he is, forgets to be silent. He cries out Zuko's name as his orgasm burns across his skin, toes curling and thighs aching as a fire is lit within him, sparking across his fingertips and filling him to the very brim.

Their lips meet with furious desperation, Zuko is shaking above him, strong arms twitching and Sokka presses his face into Zuko's neck, holding on as tight as he can, gasping against flushed skin as the movements between them slow, and eventually stop. All the prince's weight falls atop him then, almost crushing him but Sokka can't seem to make himself care.

Twenty minutes later the steam that filled the tent is all but gone, Zuko lays beside him with lazy fingers that stroke nonsense patters into his neck. Sweat still drips down his skin in long lines, pooling onto the now wet makeshift bed beneath them. Eyelids heavy, he moves until their legs are twined together again, presses his face into Zuko's neck. He's only a breath away from sleep when a sudden gust of cold air fills the tent. "Zuuukkkkoooooooo."

-END-


End file.
